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COCHITUATE PARK, 



AND OTHER POEMS. 



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MARY R. BRADBURY. 



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CAMBRIDGE : 
PrtnteK at t^t EitoersiUc Prefig. 

1882. 



Copyright 1882, 
By MARY R. BRADBURY. 



Qetiuateti 



TO 



A FRIEND. 



INTRODUCTION. 



This Park, known as the " Bradbury Woods," is 
situated on the north side of Lake Cochituate, about 
twenty-five rods distant from the street, opening with 
a fine view of the Lake. Forest Avenue, leading from 
the street, winds through the central part of the woods, 
with a number of paths branching off in different di- 
rections, and circling gracefully back again. Then 
through the woods to the open fields, down a steej) 
hill, to the Sudbury River over a rustic bridge. On 
the opposite bank of the river is a very romantic spot, 
the avenue winding round in the form of an elongated 
ellipse past several noble oak-trees, and a large chest- 
nut-tree which is twenty-one feet in circumference. 

Note. — " The entire region north of the lake, and along 
Cochituate Brook to the Sudbury Eiver, over two centuries 
since, was denominated Cochituate, and is full of liistorical 
interest, as -the locality where the footsteps of civilization are 
first traced.'' — Barri/'s Hist. 



CONTENTS. 

—4 

CocHiTUATE Park 9 

The Hemlock-Tree 25 

Lotus Lake 28 

The Rover's Serenade 31 

Our Destiny 33 

All Things Beautiful 36 

Decoration 38 

The One6tan Summer 40 

Sonnets : — 

I. To Julia 44 

II. To Robert of Lincoln 45 

IIL The Poet's Lay 46 

IV. To the Rose 47 

V. To a Water Lily ....... 48 

VI. To an Herbarium 49 

VII. Moonlight on Lake Cochituate . . . .50 

Twilight Song 52 



VI ii CONTENTS. 

To A Depaktei) Spirit 55 

The Heavenly Home 57 

The Bride's Remembrance of Home .... 59 

Little Eva Sleeps 62 

SoxG to the Lake 64 

Song to Lilian 67 

The American ^L^kseillaise 69 



COCHITUATE PARK. 

I HAVE waited for thy coming, 
O thou heavenly Queen of Song! 

Who beside the Lake's soft waters 
In laved dreams hast lingered long. 

'Neath this ancient elm I listen 
For thy gentle voice again, 

O'er my harp so softly breathing 
In one wild, melodious strain. 

Looking to the gates of morning. 

O'er the fair Cochituate, 
Here we pass the rustic entrance 

To the Park we celebrate. 



10 COCHITUATE PARK. 

By tlie ancient voices singing 
Of the past, we dimly trace 

Long ago tliis rustic entrance 
Was an Indian burial place. 

Oh tread lightly o'er his ashes, 
For he 's left us naught to-day. 

Save upon our hills and waters 
Names that ne'er will pass away. 

Clasp my hand in thine, fair Priestess, 
Lead me to the enchanted Spring I 

Bathe my soul in its pure waters. 
Teach my Muse again to sing ! 

Come with me, attend my footsteps 

To the Forest Avenue ; 
Leading to the dear old woodlands. 

With Cochituate still in view. 



COCHITUATE PARK. 11 

On this rustic seat reclining 

With these lovely pines o'erhead, 

One might wish to dwell forever 
In their wilderness of shade. 

All these leafy harps around us, 
With the summer winds at play, 

In their soft, delicious music 
Seem to whisper, " Come away, 

"Down this Honeysuckle pathway 
Where the bee delays her wing. 
Sipping from the sweet wild roses 
That o'erhang the crystal Spring." 

Not more lovely were the bowers 
In Hymettus' shades among ; 

Not more pure Castalia's fountain 
By the Grecian poets sung. 



12 COCHITUATE PARK. 

Here, our genial friend, the Master, 
With his rare, artistic skill, 

Has prepared a bower of beauty 
'Neath this fair Arcadian hill. 

Down these winding steps descending 
He has placed the Muses' seat ; 

Let us crown it with fresh garlands, 
Evergreens, and roses sweet. 

Here, each morn, we love to tarry 
Where two fountains blend in one, 

Side by side, like fairy sisters. 
Sparkling in the rising sun. 

Farther north another fountain, 

'Neath the hill, like magic springs ; 
Ferns and roses round it cluster, 
• Over all the birch-tree swings ; 



COCHITUATE PARK. 13 

Waiting for the cunning Artist, 
And the Poet's tuneful tongue, 

Showing forth its pictured shadows, 
And its praises yet unsung. 

Sweet to watch this rill so silvery 
O'er the slender grasses glide, 

Purling through the swamp and meadows, 
Till it gains our river's side. 

Here the earliest violets, springing 

All around beneath our feet. 
Wild geranium, and pyrola, 

With the honeysuckle meet. 

Here our ruby-throat is sporting, 
Like an emerald, 'mid the flowers ; 

Here the dew-drops linger longest. 
Sweetest fall the summer showers. 



14 COCHITUATE PARK. 

Like a music-box the rain-drops 

Patter o'er tliis rustic seat, 
On the leafy arch above us — 

Mossy carpet at our feet. 

Here the partridge finds a shelter, 

*Neath the hemlock's spreading boughs. 

When the stormy winds of winter 
Shroud the earth in drifting snows. 

When the maple's tasseled flowers 
Wave o'er dancing stream and rill, 

Nature, from her dreams soft waking, 
Wears immortal beauty still. 

All the fabled grace and beauty 

Sung in ancient Greece or Rome, 
We have but to see^and listen, — 
. They' are all around our home. 



COCHITUATE PARK. 15 

All these winding paths retracing 
From the foot of this fair hill, 
^ Once our happy childhood's playground, 
Doubly dear to memory still. 

Through this Hone3^suckle pathway, 
In the summer days gone by, 

Swinging on the pliant birches, 
Swinging, singing merrily, 

Free Dianas of the woodland. 

Still to each familiar glance. 
Comes a crowd of fairy visions, 

Radiant dreams of gay romance. 

O my sweetest friend and Priestess ! 

Ever faithful, kind, and true, 
Take my hand and gently lead me 

Back to Forest Avenue. 



16 COCHITUATE PARK. 

Here, the grand old chestnuts waving 
Shadows o'er the winding way ; 

Here, our Forest path diverging 
In a circle seems to stray. 

Hand in hand we pass together 

Where the stately oaks look down ; 

Not a prince across the ocean 
Wears so gracefully his crown. 

To the right, a path we enter 
With its lovely mountain view, 

Winding by this ancient chestnut, 
Round to Forest Avenue. 

Twelve feet at his base he measures. 

All alone so gloriously. 
Like a sentinel majestic, 

Towering toward the sky. 



COCHITUATE PARK. 17 

Farther on, another pathway, 
Pointing to the polar star ; 
* For its view, and sweet seclusion, 
Let us name it Solitaire. 

Here, our steps delight to linger 

In the shadow of the wood ; 
Save the woodlark's plaintive carol, 

Naught to break the solitude. 

Down into this leafy temple. 
Far away from haunts of men ; 

By our genial friend, the Master, 
Called the Coliseum Glen. 

This, he tells us, is the Chapel, 
Where the hemlock and the pine. 

Stately oak, and graceful maple's 
Branches lovingly entwine. 

2 



18 COCHITUATE PARK. 

That he calls the vast arena 

Where the lion's course is seen ; 

While on either side, above it, 
Trees in coronal of green, 

Like a crowd of gay spectators. 
Wave their heads so loftily, 

In the sunshine and the shadow, 
Darkly limned against the sky. 

When the moonlight and the starlight 
Brightly gem the summer skies, 

'T is fit try sting place for lovers 
To exchange their softest sighs. 

It is Nature's sanctuary. 
Where the pious worshiper 

Might resort with kindliest feeling 
For an hour of praise and prayer. 



COCHITUATE PARK. 19 

Here the early bird-notes echo 
On the breezes moist with dew, 
* From this leafy Coliseum 
To the Forest Avenue. 

Here we 're lost in graceful circles, 
Waltzing round and round them all; 

This we call the Crescent pathway, 
That we christen Oakley Hall. - 

What is there in sylvan circles ? 

Whither do their windings tend? 
We have asked, and heard our Poet 

Say that circles have no end. 

Like that silent Indian river 

Winding round in devious mood. 

Now through glen, and tangled thicket, 
Now through solitary wood. 



20 COCHITUATE PARK. 

As we leave these dear old woodlands, 
We, as children, wandered through, 

Each fair path to love and friendship 
Now we consecrate anew. 

On through groves of lighter shadows 
Leads our Forest Avenue, 

Till the open fields and meadows. 
Hills and valleys meet our view. 

Fast descending toward the sunset. 
Here our river winds along ; 

Althongh unrenowned in story, 
And its name unknown in song. 

In inverted lines are mirrored 

On its sides, each flower and tree, 

Clouds are floating, skies are smiling 
O'er it just as lovingly. 



COCHITUATE PARK. 21 

As when first our feet went straying 
On its banks in quest of flowers, 

Skipping stones across the water, 
In those golden, vernal hours. 

Wildwood birds here sing their sweetest, 
To the rippling waters' rune, — 

Here ten thousand leaf-harps whisper 
To the lovely airs of June. 

On this rustic brido:e we lino-er 
Where the maple shadows fall, 

Listening to the laughing music 
Of the distant waterfall. 

Here our river's rim is widened 
Up and down his winding way ; 

All his shallows cleansed and deepened 
For a bridal holiday. 



22 COCHITUATE PARK. 

Cochituate, from her softest waters, 
Sends the brook, to swell the tide 

Of onr gently flowing river ; 

Now he claims her for his bride. 

Queen of Lakes ! we wait her coming, 
Now as on the night air swells, 

'Neath the pine and maple shadows, 
Distant sound of silver bells. 

Pyrotechnic fires are streaming 
On the hill-tops round about ; 

O'er the meadows youths and maidens 
Dance, and sing with merry shout. 

Music echoes through the wild-wood, 
As we join the sweet refrain, 

In the lily's cup soft floating 
See, she comes with fairy train. 



COCHITUATE PARK. 23 

Waban's mist is floating o'er her 

Like a bridal veil, so light, 
Crowned with wreath of pearls and lilies. 

Clothed in robe of purest white. 

Nobscot with his softest zephyrs 

Fans the cheeks of each fair guest, 
While the wild vine's purple clusters 
Shed their perfumes o'er the feast. 

All salute with friendly welcome, 

'Neath this mellow, soft moonlight — 

Here my faithful friend and Priestess 
Now performs the mystic rite. 

Now we feast on love and beauty, 

Wreaths of choicest flowers we bring ; 

And for wine, we have the purest 
Water from the crystal spring. 



24 COCHITUATE PARK. 

Send the flaming rockets higher, 
Louder ring the bridal bells, 

Till the river's laughing water 
In a tide of music swells. 

From the groves and blooming meadows 
Comes a breath of perfume sweet, 

While the merry elves and dancers 
Time the waltz with fairy feet. 

Let the Poet sing our river, 

And the fair Cochituate, 
With these grand old trees, forever. 

In the Park we celebrate. 



THE HEMLOCK-TREE. 

The Park is white with snow-flakes, 

The winter winds are chill, 
Yet through the fairy woodland 

I love to ramble still 
By the river, fringed with crystals, 

Viewed through the wild ravine. 
With that lovely northern landscape 

Where the hemlock-tree is seen. 

In all its graceful beauty, 
Waving its fragrant shade, 

With its little cones so lovingly 
In clusters o'er my head; 

On the portals of the forest, 
Standing almost alone. 



26 THE HEMLOCK-TREE. 

By this new winding pathway, 
Its rustic seat a stone. 



These dear old trees, I love them, 

Through all the woodlands wild ; 
For they were my companions, 

And pla,ymates when a child. 
Then all those fairy visions 

Come thronging back again 
From the Land of Song, like rainbows, 

Through showers of summer rain. 

In this month of merry Christmas, 

Fair Hemlock, thou art seen. 
Like the heart that 's true and faithful, 

Thy boughs are always green. 
While now and then a sunbeam 

From wintry skies above. 
Comes piercing through thy shadows 

With its warm kiss of love. 



THE HEMLOCK-TREE. 27 

How sweet, when through the wildwooJ 

I 've wandered far and wide, 
To greet thee like an old friend, 

And linger by thy side. 
For thou dost teach a lesson 

Here in thy solitude, 
That all seasons have their beauties, 

And God is wise and good. 



LOTUS LAKE. 

Come away, Lilian ! the morn is fair, 

To Lotus Lake we will now repair. 

While the lilies gracefully on the breast 

Of the quivering wave their vases rest; 

For the fairy-footed June is here. 

The Queen of the Months, the gem of the 

year. 
She fans our cheeks with her balmy breath, 
And circles the Lake with a verdant wreath ; 
She kisses the fields, and meadows beside 
The winding, river's murmuring tide, 
Woods, valleys, and dells, as she glides along, 
Till -they burst into beauty, bloom, and song. 
Come, come, to this lovely grove we '11 stray, 
Down Arbor path, through each winding way, 



LOTUS LAKE. 29 

With the stately beech-trees o'er our head, 
Where the pines their waving branches spread, 
A»d in the Chapel, so wild and dim, 
While the wood-thrush carols his love-tale 

hymn, 
We '11 there construct us a rustic seat. 
Where the hemlock boughs so thickly meet. 
With their summer tresses fresh and brig-ht. 
Like spangled stars that begem the night. 
And watching the blue of the summer sky. 
Through the leafy screen, as the clouds float by. 
Till the Forester comes from his garden home. 
On the hill-side, where the roses bloom, 
Where the rustic paths invite to stray, 
And the speckled trout in the fountains play. 
A wild bird sings as he passes by. 
In the thicket near, so timid and shy, 
And this is the echo of his song : 
" God bless him, and may his years be long. 
For his skill to plan by Lake, River, and 

Grove, 



30 LOTUS LAKE. 

The beautiful Parks we so much love." 
To the Lake of the Lilies, so pure and sweet, 
To the glen in the woods, this cool retreat, 
We will come, in the early morning hours, 
When the winds make love to the leaves and 

flowers, 
While the fresh dew lingers on the bells. 
And graceful ferns in the forest dells ; 
And the lilies send from each pearly cup 
A perfumed incense to heaven up. 
Our course shall be throuo-h the tan2:led brake, 
And we '11 row the shallop o'er the Lake ; 
'Neath drooping boughs we will glide so free, 
And the lily shall our companion be. 
Until the shadowy twilight steals 
O'er the waters, the woods, and distant hills. 
While Lilian sings a strain so sweet. 
That the bright flowei*'s heart will seem to 

beat 
In love, as the south wind stealeth by, 
Till it quivers all o'er with melody. 



THE ROVER'S SERENADE. 

I. 

Sleep, lady, sleep ! now tlie last golden ray 
On the curtains of sunset has passed away ; 
The bright stars are shining afar o'er the sea. 
And the rover is dreaming of home, love, and 

thee! 
Peace, like a spirit's wing, broods o'er the deep. 
While the wave murmurs soft, sleep, lady, sleep ! 

II. 
Sleep, while the nightingale trills her soft lay 
To the rose, where the silver-voiced fountains 

play; 
The soft zephyr stealing o'er meadow and heath, 
Is bathing his wings in the sweet clover's breath. 



32 THE ROVER'S SERENADE. 

Whose blossoms wave over the honey-bee's 

head, — 
Thus may love's canopy o'er thee be spread. 

m. 

But ere the morning-star pales, lady love, 
Awake, and come forth to the laurel grove ; 
My ship lies at anchor just out in the bay. 
And I '11 row my boat lightly to bear thee 

away ; 
For the bride of the rover this night thou must 

be. 
And swiftly we '11 sail o'er the beautiful sea. 



OUR DESTINY. 

It cannot be that life so fair 

An empty bubble is ; 
Tossed up by waves of ocean, where 
It floats a moment on the air, 

Then sinks to nothingness. 

Else why those aspirations high, 

Which from the heart's deep spring 
Like angels soar above the sky, 
And through the trackless ether fly 
On never-tiring wing ? 

Why is it that the radiant bow 
At morn, or closing day, 

3 



34 OUR DESTINY. 

Delights us with a brilHant show 
Of beauty not of earthly glow, 
And quickly fades away ? — 

And stars, that weave their mystic dance 

Around the midnight throne, 
Then, as the glittering trains advance, 
Why fade they from the vast expanse 
In glory not their own ? — 

And beings beautiful and bright. 

To gem love's circle given ; 
Who, like the beams of morning light, 
So sweetly banish all our night, 

They make earth seem a heaven ? 

Oh why, when fond hopes brightly glow. 
Must these so seon depart, 
. And turn our warm affection's flow, 
Like Alpine streams of bitter woe, 
Back on each stricken heart ? 



OUR DESTINY. 35 

It is that we are born to share 

A higher destiny, 
Far richer than earth's treasures, where 
Our pleasure bubbles turn to air, 

And from our presence fly. 

There is a sky so pure and deep 

The rainbow never fades, 
Where stars their watch harmonious keep. 
Like isles that on the ocean sleep. 

No cloud their glory shades ; 

And where those beings, fair and bright, 

Who here our eyes before 
Quick pass like shadows of the night. 
Within our heaven-expanded sight 

Will stay for evermore. 



ALL THINGS BEAUTIFUL. 

Theee 's beauty in tlie rose ! 
When first the young buds open, fresh and gay, 
What fragrance on each light-winged zephyr 
flows ! 
How many a blush those modest leaves betray ! 
There 's beauty in the rose. 

There 's beauty in the grove ! 
In the majestic stature of its trees, 

In the dark leaves which its tall branches 
clothe, 
And wave in cadence "to the passing breeze. 
There 's beauty in the grove. 



ALL THINGS BEAUTIFUL. 37 

There 's beauty in the sky ! 
In the clear azure of a summer's day, 

Jn rainbow colors, sunset's crimson dye, 
And " stilly night," hung in her bright array. 
There 's beauty in the sky. 

There 's beauty in the sea ! 
In the wild grandeur of its rolling waves. 

Its untold treasures, costly, fair, and free, 
That lie deep-buried in its coral caves. 

There 's beaut}^ in the sea. 

There 's beauty in all things ! 
'T is widely written on the things of earth. 

While every star above us sweetly sings 
The beauties of the Infinite they shadow forth. 

There 's beauty in all things. 



DECORATION. 

MAY 30, 1874. 

Steew flowers, the sweetest flowers of Ma}', 

Upon each hero's mound ; 
And through the forest's aisles to-day 

Let solemn dirges sound. 

Let all accord, as patriots free, 

These honors to the brave; 
Fit tribute to their memory 

"Who died our land to save. 

Who, when the cloifds of war arose, 
» Left the delights of home, 
To stand between us and our foes, 
And seal Rebellion's doom. 



DECORATION. 39 

Though some in Southern graves afar, 

Some sleep beneath the sea ; 
^11 fought beneath fair Freedom's star, 

And died for Liberty. 

With grateful hearts we bless the Hand 

That led to victory, — 
That still preserves to all our land 

A name that can not die. 

Once more, while music's dulcet strain 

Swells on the air serene, 
Red, white, and blue we twine again 

In wreaths of evergreen. 

Let violets, lilies, and the rose 

Adorn each soldier's grave, — 
Love's last and sweetest gift to those 

Who died our land to save. 



THE ONEOTAN SUMMER. 

Now the Summer gently lingers, 
Lingers in the lap of Autumn, 
In the Land we call Hesperia ; 
And should an}^ pause to question 
Why. we such a name have chosen. 
Tell them, when the *' Star of Empire 
Took its way to regions westward, 
It has ever since kept shining 
On the Land of Lakes and Rivers, 
Mountains, Prairies, and Forests, 
From its rugged, rocky entrance. 
To its golden gates- of sunset. 
Nature now puts on her jewels, 
When an almost sabbath stillness 



THE ONE 6 TAN SUMMER. 41 

Reigns o'er valley, hill, and fountain ; 
And the sun's bright beams come twinkling 
% Through the forest's sombre foliage. 
Now and then with gentle rustle 
Strewing all the paths around us. 
While the glassy lake and river, 
Like a weird enchanter's mirror. 
Glitter with a gorgeous image 
Of the many colored tresses 
In the coronal of Autumn. 
Then a haze is slowly gathering 
Round the distant, broad horizon, 
Wrapping the whole earth and heaven 
In a sleep so deep and dreamy, 
They might never seem to waken. 
'T is the Oneotan Summer, 
When the hunter from the mountains, 
Far beyond the lakes and mountains, 
'Neath the harvest moon returning, 
Bringing many a sylvan trophy, — 



42 THE ONEOTAN SUMMER. 

Fars so rich, so soft in texture, 
They raight well become a Princess ; 
And wild game of elk or bison, 
Showing that his roving nature 
Is at war with every creature 
That by primal birth inherits 
Fair Hesperia's ancient forests, — 
Gazing on the scene around him 
All his savage bosom swelling 
With a thrill of grateful feeling 
To the great Southwestern Spirit, 
Who hath sent him corn and plenty. 
Lingering by soft running waters, 
Oft he bends his ear to listen, 
Fancying in the faintest whisper 
That there is some friendly message 
Wafted from the Happy Islands ; 
And he counts each moon's declining, 
Sighing for the blissful moment. 
When his weary, sorrowing spirit, 



THE 0NE6TAN SUMMER, 43 

With the singing birds departing, 
On the balmy winds soft floating, 
* Shall rejoin his friends and kindred 
Where the purple tints of sunset 
Gild Wakonda's shining palace, 
On the shore of dreamy shadows, 
In the Land of the Departed, 



SONNETS. 



TO JULIA. 

Oh that the tuneful Nightingale might fly 
To Julia's cottage by the winding stream, 
What time the moon imbathes her silvery 
beam 
In its pure waters, murmuring softly by, 
And warble to the Rose a melody. 

And should the maid awakened in her 
dream, 
On downy couch reclining, rise to hear 
The ritornello swelling loud and clear, 

So wildly sweet were each melodious tone 
That unseen spirits of the breezy night 



SONNETS. 45 

Might hush their harps, and fold their pinions 
bright, 
Imagining the echoes were their own. 
Such song renewed, with soft, mysterious art, 
Might win the rose within fair Julia's heart. 

II. 

TO EGBERT OF LINCOLN. 

Thou of the snowy crest and tuneful throat ! 
Why, why refuse to sing ? Thy merry gush 
Of melody would put art to the blush. 

And winds grow hush with the entrancing note. 

Is it that heavy clouds the sun's bright beams 
Obscure, that thou dost now withhold the 
lay? 

Or art thou sighing for thine own pure streams 
That course through flowery meads their joy- 
ous way, 
'Neath wreathed canopies of vine and tree. 
Where kindred warblers carol blithe and free ? 



46 SONNETS. 

Methinks if those were given, thy song would 

rise 
Like the first bud that to the morning 

springs, 

When the young day has painted o'er the skies, 

Bathing in heaven's clear light its fragrant 
wings. 

in. 

THE poet's lay. 

A. POET sang in a leafy bower. 

By a river, a song so sweet. 
That the eddying waves to tree and flower 

The melody seemed to repeat 
And though winds were hushed by fount and 

dell 
A shower of perfumes round him fell. 
And the minnows sported before him, 

As the waters dimpled by, 
And the Lark paused, hovering o'er him. 

From her circlet in the sky. 



SOJSfNETS. 47 

The Nightingale held her breath to hear, 
And thought, while perched in the thicket 

^ near, 
That some river sprite, or greenwood fay, 
Had stolen her own melodious lay. 

IV. 

TO THE KOSE. 

Thou hast a deeper hue upon thy cheek. 
Than thy pale sister, bright and beauteous 
Rose ! 
Nymplijea never blushes, soft and. meek 

Upon her alabaster cup there glows 
A look of purity, serene and fair, 
Such as the spirits of the blest might wear. 
But thou, proud Rose ! adorned with nobler 
grace, 
Thou crowned one of all the floral train ! 
Might not heaven's own pure waters wear 
the trace 



48 SONNETS. 

Of thy sweet form, undimmed by earthly 
stain, — 
Thy rich leaves bursting into glory there? 
Yet may we meet thee in the golden light 
Of those clear skies, love's emblem, deathless, 
bright, 
Breathing out fragrance on immortal air. 

V. 

TO A WATER LILY. 
Nymphcea Odorata. 

Beautiful Flower ! upon the lake's cool breast, 
Rising in queenly grace with every swell 
Of the bright wave, as if within thy cell 

A fairy meekly dwelt ; whether at rest, 
Or quivering with foam the waters be, 

Stirred by the winds, -alike thou bearest up 

To the soft azure sky that delicate cup 

As to the storm. Oh, what is most like 
thee ? — 



SONNETS. 49 

Fond woman's heart is like thee, gentle flower ! 
Alike in sorrow, as in joy's bright hour, 

forth from her spirit's depths there beams a 
light, — 
The light of faith and love, midst life's dark 

sea ; " 

Like the sweet lily in its purity, 

Smiling serene above the tempest's might. 

VI. 
TO AN HERBAEIUM. 

Sweet flowers, that grace the lawns and mead- 
ows fair. 
Or hide their bloom beneath the greenwood 
tree. 
Wafting rich perfumes on the mountain air. 
In valleys green folding their leaves at rest. 
Or floating calmly on the river's breast, 
1 love them for their matchless purity. 
4 



50 SONNETS. 

And ranging through these forest paths alone, 

There steals upon the winds a plaintive tone, 
Now wildly sighing through the lonely dells. 

While each wild flower revives in memory 
What time a fair hand culled these buds and 
bells, 

Sweet emblems of her own mortality, 
Prepared each lovely leaf with classic taste. 
And every genus in its order placed. 

VII. 
MOONLIGHT OX LAKE COCHITUATE. 

How beautifully soft the moonlight sleeps, 

Cochituate, on thy pure, unruffled breast ! 

There 's not a cloud above in azure drest. 
To dim the shining mirror ; o'er thy deeps. 

Now gracefully and ^low, with noiseless oar. 
The shallop glides, while in the far-off bay, 
The fisher gayly chants his homeward lay, 

That faintly dies away along the shore. 



SONNETS. 51 

Most loved by night, at such an hour as this^ 
Fair lake ! 't would seem that heaven had 

melted through 
In love upon the scene, and that each hue 

Came from the spirit-land, thy waves to kiss. 
Oh ever thus smile on serene as now, 
With beauty's soft light sleeping on thy brow. 



TWILIGHT SONG. 

In the twilight, when the shadows 
O'er the mountains slowly creep, 
And the whippoorwill is chanting 

In the greenwood, wild anH deep ; 
Bees, from humming 'mid the clover. 
Sink in honeyed cells to rest ; 
Flowers are closing, 
Birds reposing. 
Fold their wings in downy nest. 

Where the honeysuckle twineth. 
And the roses seent the air, 

Out upon the cool veranda 
Let us roll the rustic chair. 



TWILIGHT SONG. 53 

There, at ease reclining, listen, 
Wrapt in dreamy musings sweet, 
To the river, 
Murmuring ever 
Through the valley at our feet. 

While the south wind, soft and balmy, 

Fans us from the distant sea. 
Stirring all its waves to ripples. 

With a low, sweet melody. 
Wreaths of buds, and fresh sea mosses, 
As in summer days gone by. 
We are twining, 
Till the shining 
Stars begem both sea and sky. 

When the fisher, homeward turning, 

Sings a merry roundelay. 
As he leaves his skiff at anchor, 

In the cove, beside the bay ; 



54 TWILIGHT SONG. 

And the evening bells are chiming, 
As the moon far o'er the deep 
Sweetly beaming, 
Finds us dreaming 
Till the world is wrapt in sleep. 



TO A DEPARTED SPIRIT. 

Sweet spirit, thou art with us yet, 
Although thy star on eartli has set ; 
From heaven it beams divinely bright, — 
Death would not quench love's holy light. 

Still looking on us from the sky, 
Where all is peace and purity, 
Beautiful spirit, everywhere 
We feel thine angel presence near. 

At morn, throughout the busy day, 
It still doth cheer us on our way ; 
Thy form upon our hearts we wear, 
Death would not steal love's image there. 



56 TO A DEPARTED SPIRIT. 

And when the evening star's mild ray 
Has lighted o'er thy place of clay, 
We fancy in the breeze we hear 
Thy soft voice whispering in our ear. 

Yes, every thought and every prayer 
We 've loved at this sweet hour to share, 
Returns on our full hearts again, — 
We feel that thou art near us then. 

When .midnight visions lead us back 
Fondly o'er all life's shining track. 
And purest joys we e'er have known 
Live o'er again, we are not lone. 

Though mortal veil our eyes divide, 
Thou art ever watching by our side, 
And beckoning us with thee to fly, 
Sweet spirit, to thy home on high! 



THE HEAVENLY HOME. 

'T IS where immortal flowers 

Unfold their bloom ; 
Amid celestial bowers 

Blest spirits come. 
There, banished every sin, 
No ill can enter in, — 
My soul, 't is thine to win 
That heavenly home ! 

Above life's troubled sea. 

And surging foam, 
A beacon shines for thee. 

Thy course to illume. 
Thy bark will sure outride • 
The storm, whate'er betide ; 



58 THE HEAVENLY HOME. 

Jesus, thy star, will guide 
Thee safely home. 

'T is to a bridal feast 
He bids thee come, 
My soul, with saints a guest, 

In heaven, at home. 
Where angels ever bright 
Will greet thee with delight, 
In robes of purest white, 
No more to roam. 

Then plume, my soul, to fly 

Soon, like a dove, 
To thy home beyond the sky, 

Far, far above. 
There thou wilt see thy king. 
And drink the living spring ; 
With golden harp will sing 

Our Saviour's love. 



THE BRIDE'S REMEMBRANCE OF HOME. 

Thou hast no voice so soothing to mine ear, 
Land of the healing spring, no sound so dear, 
As the bland spirit of the mountain sigh, 
When, with the scent of forests floating by, 
It steals upon me in the dreamy night, 
With a sweet thrill of rapturous delight ; 
For it hath power in its wild melody 
To waken thoughts, my own loved home, of 
thee! 

I seem to stand beneath those azure skies 
Where to the clouds the clifted Catskills rise ; 
Once more I ramble o'er the fragrant heath, 
Where the light zephyr wooes the violet's breath, 



60 THE BRIDE'S REMEMBRANCE OF HOME. 

And in imagination hear the swell 
Of torrents rushing down the rocky dell ; 
Then my own Shatemuc, noble, fair, and free, 
Its waters sweeping onward to the sea, 
Steals in soft vision to my memory. 

As when I lingered by its fair, green side, 
Listening the murmur of its swelling tide, 
'Neath the cool shadows of the clustering vine. 
My favorite summer bower in days " lang 

syne ; " 
Or climbed some promontory's height to view, 
In the far west, the lingering sunset's hue ; 
And watched those sails its bosom whitening 

o'er 
That commerce wafts to many a foreign shore. 

As lastly, when upon Hiy bridal morn, 
Our fairy bark was o'er its waters borne. 



THE BRIDE'S REMEMBRANCE OF HOME. 61 

Flow on, flow on, as when, majestic stream ! 
Thine echo blent with youth's romantic dream ; 
Thoiigli far away, thou art not forgotten here ; 
The faintest mountain echo which mine ear 
Hath ever caught of this land's melody 
Wakens remembrances of home and thee I 



LITTLE EVA SLEEPS. 

Little fairy footsteps 

Waiting at the door ; 
Daint}^ little fingers 

Clasp our hand no more ; 
Darling of the houshold, 

Where the fresh moss creeps, 
'Neath the fragrant violets 

Little Eva sleeps ! 

And a fairy maiden 

Oft at eve is seen, 
Bearing choicest flowers 

Twined with evergreen. 
By the momid she lingers 

Till the star beam peeps — 



LITTLE^ EVA SLEEPS. 63 

'Neath the fragrant violets 
Little Eva sleeps ! 

Wafted by the angels 

To the spirit land, 
Happy cherub, singing 

With the shining band ; 
Still the star of evening 

Faithful vigil keeps 
O'er the fragrant violets 

Where little Eva sleeps ! 

Ere her spirit tasted 

Sorrow's bitter cup. 
Ere rude sin had blighted 

One sweet budding hope, 
Plumed her wing for heaven — 

Still the night dew weeps 
O'er the fragrant violets 

Where little Eva sleeps ! 



SONG TO THE LAKE. 

When the skies are soft, and south winds blow 
O'er thy pure bosom, so sweet and low, 
Scarce stirring the quivering wavelet's rest 
On the light sleep of the waters' breast ; 
And the morning shadows come to bathe 
Their airy forms in thy bright, cool wave, 
I love to ramble, from care set free, 
Cochituate, my own fair Lake, by thee ! 

For then it is, in the summer light, 
Thy waters are clearer to the sight ; 
And give, where the pine-trees darkly wave, 
A deeper, stain to the bank they lave ; 
And then in the shallows brightly glow 
The colored pebbles that sleep below ; 



SONG TO TEE LAKE. Qb 

And wafted sweets on the air are shed 
Where Nymphcea lifts her modest head. 

% 
But lovelier still, when the full moon steals 
From her ocean bed, o'er the " place of 

hills," 
Tinging the shades with a softer light 
That cluster around each breezy height, 
Till the lake beneath, like a polished glass, 
Mirrors the shadows that o'er it pass ; 
While softly steals o'er meadow and hill 
The plaintive chant of the whippoorwill. 

Beautiful Lake ! in this lovely glen 
Sleeping afar from the haunts of men ; 
With all around so shady and still, 
Lawn, forest, and vale, and sloping hill, 
Save the low hum of the busy bee. 
As from flower to' flower and tree to tree 

5 



66 SONG TO THE LAKE. 

She flies, while the wood-thrush merrily sings 
On the maple branch, where the wild vine 
springs. 

Then when the fisher, with rustic oar, 

Is pushing his light skiff from the shore, 

Or dropping his net along the side 

Of some green bank where the minnows glide ; 

Or when some dreamy rambler like me 

Has carelessly come to muse on thee, 

To stray o'er valley and forest glen, 

Thou art not lonely, Cochituate, then. 

Often I think, as I fondly gaze 

On thee, sweet Lake ! of mv childhood's davs : 

When in frolic sport I chased the bee 

From off the rose, by the alder-tree ; 

Or, on the emerald turf reclined, 

A wreath- of the moss and foxglove twined ; 

And wish, as along this lovely glen 

I roam, that my life were gay as then. 



SONG TO LILIAN. 

There 's a charm upon the air, 

Where the early violets spring, 
By the laughing river's side, 

When the merry thrushes sing. 
Lilian joins the happy song 
As she gayly skips along — 
Thrills our spirit's downy wing 
Like a harp's enchanted string. 

Through the forest paths we stray. 
O'er the meadows by the stream, 

Till the song-birds seek the shade, 
Sheltered from the noontide's beam. 

Then how sweet to lay our head 

'Neath the fragrant hemlock's shade, 



68 SONG TO LILIAN. 

Fairy Lilian at our feet, 
Twining ferns and lilies sweet. 

When the sunset tints the w^est, 

And the night-bird's song floats b}^ 
Shadows curtain hills and woods, 

Stars are twinkling in the sky ; 
There 's a charm upon the air, — 
Lillie sings her evening prayer, 
Folds her hands upon her breast, 
On her little couch at rest. 

Now the holy angels keep 

Watch above her quiet sleep 

Through the solemn, dark midnight, 
Through the twilight of the dawn. 
Till the blushing queen of morn 

Sends her beams of rosy light. 

With their breath of perfumes sweet, 
Lilian's sunny smile to greet. 



THE AMERICAN MARSEILLAISE. 
June 25, 1861. 

Hark ! hark ! our country's voice is calling, 

And loudly sounds the battle cry ; 
America's bright Stars are falling, 

And treachery's clouds bedim her sky! 
A lawless band insatiate burning 
With lust of power, defiant rise, 
The joys of peace, which freemen prize. 
To ruin and desolation turning. 
CHORUS. 
From wrong the land we '11 save, 

Our ifathers died to free, 
Or else each martyr'd hero's grave 
- Its funeral pyre shall be. 



70 THE AMERICAN MARSEILLAISE. 

O liberty ! the sweetest blessing 

Bestowed on man by Hand Divine ! 
Shall we, such priceless boon possessing, 

To slavery's power thy rights resign ? 
While friendly nations hither turning 

With pitying eyes behold our shame ? 

No ! We will keep und^'mmed thy flame 
Upon our country's altar burning. 

Who seeks our Union's Stars to sever, 
Not unavenged the crime shall be ; 

For 'neath its folds, glorious as ever, 
We '11 boldly march to victory ! 

We '11 bear the flag of freedom shining, 
Crowned with fresh laurels by the brave. 
Till every '^ Star and Stripe " shall wave 

With peace and liberty entwining. 

Wljat though our bravest sons are falling. 
By treacherous brothers basely slain ; 



THE AMERICAN MARSEILLAISE. 71 

Pale not our hearts at duty calling, 
But freedom and the truth maintain. 
^ And bards will celebrate in story, 
The noble song of liberty, 
The heroic deeds which made us free, 

And starred anew our country's glory. 



COCHITUATE PARK, 



AND OTHER POEMS. 



BY 



MARY R. BRADBURY. 



CAMBRIDGE : 
Printeti at tjie EitjerstUe JPregfii. 

1882. 






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